


Hold with Those who Favor Fire

by AceQueenKing



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Dancing, Economics, F/F, Illustrated, Naboo - Freeform, Politics, Shu-Torun, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 04:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16803559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: In a sea of gold and silver, the Senator from Naboo is a bright blaze, and yes, Jaquril is drawn to it.





	Hold with Those who Favor Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spookykingdomstarlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/gifts).



_Jaquiril_ Wilduca _\+ Astrid Ores, 10 ABY, Shu-Toran_

  
The new Senator of Shu-Torun watches as her fellow senators arrive at the annual Shu-Torun dance; the name is long and multi-symbolic, difficult to pronounce for most species, and so they simply call it the Shu-Torun dance. The Senator is fine with that; if they wish to equivocate her world with glitz and glamour and not the end of several devastating wars, so be it. She has always been too practical to mind the slight that comes from core worlds not learning of their history.

And this is a new era of history. So many of them are new senators, herself included. She likes to look at them; freshman, their excitement palpable. Most don’t stand out. One does.

It’s obvious that the Naboo girl is fresh meat on the political stage.

It’s understandable, she supposes; she has just been elected senator of the former Emperor’s homeworld – their first senator in well over a decade. Most of the senators here are new, including herself — few returned from the war, no matter which side they took — but hardly any have drawn so much attention to themselves. It’s no wonder that people would be curious. And certainly, having seen the girl herself, the senator of the Shu-Torun (and if she keeps saying that, perhaps she will believe it is real) is now curious. 

Senator Jaquril Wilduca, first senator of her nations in this new Republic, watches this new arrival to the Shu-Torun dance. It’s obvious she’s new from the way she dresses and acts; she has dressed to gather attention and has performed similarly. In a sea of gold and silver, she is a bright blaze, and yes, Jaquril is drawn to it. The Naboo senator is obviously from the mid rim, because she dresses flamboyantly. Her dress is redder than flame and made of fine silks, covered in rare pearls in the bodice, with both a plunging neckline and a long thigh slit that shows off her toned legs. She was a queen once, Jaquril thinks, or at least a prospective candidate in the strange political games Naboo’s most high-crust youth play. She looks like someone who comes from the Empire’s homeworld; her hair is dark brown mahogany and she supposes it is a small mercy that is not put up in one of those ridiculous hairstyles so favored by the core-worlds. Then again, it’s easy to put up a facsimile of a Coruscant style, Jaquril thinks sourly, when you have five women doing your hair every morning. Even without such accoutrements; she would be surprised if the girl has even dressed herself. From the rumors, the Naboo handmaidens are very, _very_ diligent in their duties.

Jaquril casts her gaze wide, scanning for those so-called mighty protectors. She looks for a small river of female faces for a group of women looking dour and finds them quickly – hovering the shadows as they girl senator grins and flirts shamelessly with several core world representatives. Oh, she is brazen this one. They keep their distance, but none of them look happy about it.

Jaquril is glad, in a way. She doesn’t really remember the last Senate – Palpatine had eliminated their senator before she had come of age, but she does remember the Imperial Senate being enormously dull and boring. Nothing like this room, so full of young men and women of so many worlds. She wonders if this could work; privately, she doubts it.

She somewhat regrets her own outfit; she’s played it too safe. She has clad herself in neutral silver, with light flower embellishments on the top. It’s a simple gown, enough to cement her status as the heiress of a mine or two, but not so much as to take over the whole crowd. Worse, most of the dance hall is clad in silver or gold, the two state colors for Shu and Torun, respectively, so she looks like merely one glittering candelabra of many at her own party. Ah, well; she is new, too. And it is not entirely a bad thing to appear humble, she knows; being underestimated is part of the reason why _she_ is the senator, not any of her competitors.

And besides, she has always preferred to watch from afar, and the Naboo senator – she wishes that she remembered her name, but she hadn’t known her to be so fascinating – gives her plenty to watch. Senator Jaquril Wilduca picks up a drink off a tray, watching as the Naboo senator dances with one of the older representatives – a mon calamari, whose bright red skin matches quite well with her dress. She wonders if that is the reason that the girl picked him, or perhaps it is that the admiral has been long respected in the Rebellion. Or perhaps it is simply her fancy; Jaquril is not sure, but she enjoys watching her move. She is a delight of movement, the silks sweet rustling contrasting lovely with her toned physique.

The Naboo senator sees her watching and smiles; she isn’t sure if it’s for her or not, but it’s so charming that she feels a warmth in her chest that has nothing to do with the liquor. Playing it cool, Jaquril salutes with her drink, raising her eyebrows. A simple gesture, but impersonal enough she can always play it off as if she was doing it for someone else.

The Naboo Senator whirls into the crowd, and Jaquril loses the sight of her flaming silks in the swirl of golden and silver bodies. Mon Mothma, the Chandrilian Senator, touches her elbow, and she almost regrets the Rebel Leader’s decorum in gently thanking her nation for hosting. She pays attention, is kind and focuses – mostly – on Mon Mothma, but at the corner of her eye, she watches for the Naboo Senator.

And after what feels like eons but surely is little more than a few minutes, she does catch her, the silks of her dress fluttering up behind Mon Mothma. She bites her lips in a way that somehow highlights the soft fullness of her lips. She holds a hand to Mon Mothma first – as one would expect to the Chancellor, or soon to be chancellor, at least – and then holds out her hand to Jaquril.

“Thank you for the lovely ball,” the Naboo senator says, in an intoxicatingly sweet voice. It’s neither too soft nor too loud; musical and melodic, soothing. She has that high Theed accent that reminds her of listening to the Emperor during his chats; it feels…strange, to hear that accent come out of a woman. Stranger still to find it charming; Shu-Torun has had a difficult life under the Empire’s boot, and even young ones such as Jaquril know to hate the Empire.

“You’re quite welcome,” she says, doing her best to keep her voice flat. Letting the senator know how she feels about her would be giving her power, and Jaquril doesn’t know where she stands on anything political quite yet. “It’s my pleasure to serve the Republic.”

The word _republic_ feels odd in her mouth; she has grown up with it being a word of ancient history, and sometimes she wonders if it won’t become history again, if she will be little better than a footnote.

“Mine as well.” The woman curtseys. “We Naboo have much to prove to the public.” Mon Mothma excuses them both with wishes for happiness and quietly joins the crowd. She expects the Naboo to leave, to follow Mon, but she doesn’t. Instead, she winks at Jaquril in a gesture as potent as a knife’s stab and picks up an hors d'oeuvre from a twirling waiter, biting into the thin bread that is customary of the Shu people, spiced with the tuber most prized by the Torun. She eats it correctly, all in one bite, which Jaquril notes with an arched brow. Most at the gala have been nibbling. This girl has done her homework.

Which means, most likely, that she wants something.

“Forgive me,” she says; and the girl looks up with soft eyes; she resembles nothing, Jaquril thinks, so much as a puppy, overeager and nipping at everyone’s heels, but there’s a liquid steel in those eyes that Jaquirel recognizes. “I’m afraid I don’t know your name, Senator.”

“Astrid,” she says, grinning with a sort of genuine-looking happiness. She grabs Jaquril’s hand and Jaquril shivers; her hand is warm, soft, sweet. She lets the touch linger just a moment longer than she has to. “Astrid Ores.”

“Not a very Naboo name,” she says, clicking her tongue and sizing up the girl. She has the look of a Naboo certainly; the dark hair bounding so far down her back in an oil slick is very Naboo, as are the ornaments of her trade: the jewels in her bodice, the mixing of materials in her dress.

“No, it isn’t.” Astrid smiles thinly. “My parents were from Muunilinst. They kept the old ways when they returned to the Empire.”

“Odd, too, to have human parents on Muunilinst.” She gives Astrid a rare smile and wonders if Astrid knows is this is the first smile she has given in a fortnight. There is something charming about the Naboo flirt, damn her. “You must be a very rare specimen.”

“Bankers, _”_ Astrid says, grinning as if she is a very rare specimen indeed. “They returned to Naboo only because of the Confederacy, and the Empire, well…” She shrugs, as if _and the Empire_ was only a footnote. “Clearly, they should have picked Shu-Torun. The name ought to have been a hit here at least.”

Astrid giggles — actually giggles! — as Jaquril gives the Naboo another one of her rare smiles. It is true; her planet is rife with soot and iron and ore. Under their feet lie millions of dollars, held in a beating vein of iron. “You are welcome to come and see if the name proves popular.”

“I may take you up on that on another trip, Senator Jaquril Wilduca. May – may I call you Jaquril?” Jaquril’s heart skips a beat as the girl places her sweet, small hand on Jaquril’s shoulder, lightly thumbing over the ridges of the embroidery on her dress. Jaquril knows that she should say no, that she should insist on being called by her title – but then, what woman could resist so tempting a gesture?

“You may,” she says, and somehow manages to say it true, with a neutral tone that is not too eager nor too petulant. Queen Trios would be proud of her, of how she resists the temptation. “And I assume I may call you Astrid?”  
  
“But of course!” Astrid blooms like a rare carnation-red flower; she floats to Astrid's free hand and clasps it warmly in her own palm. “Shall we dance, Jaquril?”

She says nothing for a moment, pausing at the thought; Jaquril is no great dancer, has never been as good at thinking on her feet as she has been on the sidelines, with careful deliberation. But then — does she want to lose the attention of the Naboo flame? It burns so brightly that Jaquril can barely grip her hand.

“Come on, don’t be shy.” Astrid tugs her toward the dance floor. “Please, Jaquril?” The band picks up a kicky tune, the sort that no traditional Shu Torun would approve of. Dances of the Shu and the Torun are slow, ceremonial, but times are changing, and Jaquril is changing with them.

She nods once, crisply; in the imperial academy she was all but raised in, that was how acknowledgments were made. Coldly, brutally, efficient; she wonders if her entire generation was repressed, sometimes, at least in the parts the Empire once ruled. But then, did she not have proof of the fallacy of that statement in her hand? Astrid grins, delight singing through her as she hums along with the band, her hands touching Jaquril’s shoulders like sparks.

Jaquril cannot help but notice that Astrid insists upon leading.

She files away that information in her mental file. The girl appears a flighty thing, but Astrid senses the iron underneath; it beats in her heart, not unlikely that of the ore underneath. Jaquril comes from a long line of miners; she, too is good at sensing ores, the heart of the matter. It has been bred into her for generations; even the Imperial brutality of her childhood cannot shake it.

“Do you like Shu-Torun, my lady?” She purrs, allows herself to throw out a pleasant nothing with as much hope to it as she can muster.

“Quite!” Astrid gleams with soft luster-light, no different than any ore. “It’s a nice place, all right. The mines here seem quite …active.”

“They are.” She smiles; a beautiful thing, Shu-Torun’s industry. The New Republic is building new ships, new buildings, all of which call for steel, for ore. Shu-Torun has a bright future, whether the Republic dissolve in war or builds its way to glory. “Does Naboo have such? I fear I have never visited your planet.”

“No, not as such. Our planet is mostly water at its core, which…has certain disadvantages when it comes to ore, I am afraid. What ore Naboo has, we have plundered.” Jaquril thinks of Theed’s palace, gleaming in marble and gold, and stutters a step in her dance.

“Beg pardon, I – “ She gulps, but Astrid shakes her head, runs her hand through Jaquril’s short hair.

“Did you think my handmaidens were merely for show, Jaquril?” She says in a soft whisper that scalds like a flame. “That is what my people were built on, but I have no desire to wage war. As I told you, Naboo has much to prove to others, and what I seek is more…economic.”

“Economic?” The song shifts to a slower, more traditional tune, and Jaquril pivots, lightly; she twirls Astrid who smiles at her, bright teeth visible in the low light, and Jaquril wonders if she is dancing with a campfire or an inferno.

“As you said, Jaquril — our planet is disadvantaged in metals, but rich in other ways.” Astrid separates from her for a moment, the silk of her skirts swishing over Jaquril’s silver bodice, then grasps her again. “You need gas to power you forges; I need metal to build.” What she was building, Jaquril noticed, was not uttered by that lovely mouth. “Our planets have different industries, but our goals are much the same. An economic block with two prominent midworlds — surely, you can see we would both benefit.”

“Hm.” Jaquril cannot help but be a bit disappointed; is this the girl’s endgame? Merely attempting to seduce her way to good economic deals? She had hoped that Astrid would want her for more than that, though she cannot deny forming a block with her would make good sense. “I will take it under advisement,” she hums, once again using that steel-neutral voice that the Empire drummed into her to not reveal her true intentions.

Astrid twirls around, viper-fast, pressing her backside to Astrid as she curls her arms around her. It is the start of a move to change dancing companions, but Jaquril finds her arms going to Astrid’s waist, anchoring her to her.

“Do not think my interest in dancing with you purely economic,” Astrid murmurs. One hand goes up to her short blond hair and toys with it, though there is not much to toy with. Jaquril has always kept it short; easier to maintain, easier to fit under an imperial cap and easier to style in the draconian restrictions of the Empire. “I should like to know you better on a personal level, as well.” Their bodies rock together and Jaquril does her best to not blush, though the grin on Astrid’s face makes her suspect she is not entirely successful.

“How do I know what you speak is true?” Jaquril asks. She separates from Astrid, walks off the dance floor; a test of the other senator’s mettle. She heads for a dark corner and tells herself it is not because she wants privacy but because she wants to see if Astrid will abandon the dance; if she will chase her. She hears the clip-clip of dainty heels upon the ancient stone floor but does not dare to turn until she is fully in the corner’s shadow.

An arm brushes against her, Astrid’s bosom heaving from her dance floor exertions. Jaquril closes her eyes, tries to calm her beating heart that did not dare to hope the senator would follow her. Such subtle moves have power. “Why me?” She asks, and tries to keep her tone dis-passionate, but she hears the wobble to her tone and knows Astrid has heard it too.

Astrid wraps her arms around Jaquril; she is so warm, so vivid. “Because you like to observe,” she says, in a soft whisper in Jaquril’s ear. “Because you like to watch people, because I, Senator Jaquril, enjoy someone who thinks so seriously. And I have always preferred blonds with hard edges, and you, my dear, are flint.”

Jaquril shivers at the hot breath of the Naboo in front of her; her eyes smolder like a flame. “What does that make you?” She asks; her voice has none of the imperial training that had been beaten into her, and she shivers.

“A flame,” the Naboo senator says, smiling, and then her mouth is upon her, and Jaquril feels herself all but combust.

**Author's Note:**

> For the manip, Astrid's look is from [here](https://www.jvn.com/prom-dresses/red-and-silver-embellished-to-and-open-back-dress-jvn47030-732), and Jaquril's is [here](https://ru.aliexpress.com/item/Free-Shipping-Coniefox-30561-Sleeveless-Silver-Lace-Floor-Length-Evening-Dress/1746685017.html).


End file.
